


To Serve Man

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Choking, Condescension, Consensual Kink, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, F/M, Humiliation, Insults, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Patronizing, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Praise Kink, Punishment, Roleplay, S&M, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Submission, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's relationship with Inquisitor Lavellan has brought up a lot of dark fantasies for him - ones that he had always been ashamed of before he met her. But instead of running from them, she only coaxes more from him, wanting more, demanding more, always insatiable and ravenous for whatever the good Commander can dish out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tease

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut. Again. Literally there is nothing else to this.

How was it even possible, Cullen wondered on a fairly regular basis, that a woman so bold, so proud, and so powerful could be attracted to _him_ , of all people?

In the beginning, he had been courteous, polite; a proper soldier. He bowed and kissed her hand chastely whenever he departed, and bowed too upon greeting. He always gave her a lift when she threw her leg over her mount that was a little too tall for her petite form, and saluted her as she rode from Skyhold with her companions. Always.

After their seemingly endless waltz of maybes finally drew its curtain on the dawn of that first kiss, he proposed this curiosity. She said there were a myriad of reasons.

One of the reasons she wanted him in her bed was because she had a feeling there was something under his thick layer of discipline - something that was filthy, that craved a less gentle approach to life – something that only saw light of day in battle. He supposed, when he thought on it, that she was right. Fumbling and embarrassed, he had slid her robe off her shoulder to kiss the pale flesh there, and he’d felt the telltale rumbling inside him that demanded more.

The Inquisitor, however, would have none of his gentleness. It was as though she knew; she was always too wise for her own good, that elf. “You need me,” she told him. It was not a question. “And I need you to hurt me.” Pressing his face into her neck with her hands tugging at his scalp, Cullen had groaned at her insistence that day, and let himself go – bringing down those uptight defenses for the first time.

Often Cullen thought that he was the luckiest man on earth. He loved her more than his every breath, but beyond that, he had not made love so often in… well, in his life. Nor, he bemoaned, had his sex life been so passionate and – Maker help him – violent. She was positively ravenous. He had worried that her desire for him would falter with time, but the years were ticking by, and still she came to him as often as her busy life permitted, crawling under his desk to humiliate him while he worked, showing up in his bed in the middle of the night, and simply begging him to fuck her; to hurt her – often even when he hadn’t the time.

Lavellan was a bad influence on him, he thought, and though he chastised her for this, it was never with anger, and she always laughed before ducking beneath the sheets to devour him in response. He marveled regularly at the wild fire such a tiny elf could wield – quite literally, too, she was the most powerful mage he had ever witnessed in battle.

The fact that she was an apostate had been no hindrance to his attraction to her at first, a fact that surprised him, but when his interest blossomed into genuine trust and need, it made him hesitant. He worried what she thought of him, knowing what he’d done to people who shared her skills, and he still hid from her the full scope of his horrific deeds: the desecration that his hatred had wrought on so many, not even that long ago.

During a sunny midday break, he had gathered the courage to finally ask her about this point (his palms sweating as he did), and she shrugged.

“It hurts,” she said coolly, “to remember what you’ve done to people like me… and how you might have felt about me even a few years ago.” They both looked at the floor a little uncomfortably. “I know I’d probably be dead now if we had met then – or you would be.” He caught her eye again, and found her smirking rather inappropriately. “But anyway, that doesn’t matter. We didn’t meet then. We met now, and you’re a different person. So am I, for that matter. And besides, I think it’s kind of hot.”

Cullen blanched, entirely thrown by this last offhand declaration. “Excuse me?” He was breathless.

The laugh she gave stuck with him for a long time after. “Oh please, don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to you,” she chuckled, eyes gleaming dangerously as she moved around his desk and climbed onto his lap. Maker, she was so small, so tempting; a fragile thing with her legs thrown over him, so ripe to his will. “The Templar, and the mage?” She quirked an eyebrow. “How many times have I seen that dynamic written as the premise of so many trashy novels? I’ve lost count; it’s that popular. I’m sure Cassandra must have something like it lying around – ”

“Sweet Maker!” Cullen looked faint. “I don’t want to know what Seeker Pentaghast is reading! She is a dear friend of mine, and I…”

“A dear friend who knows the absolute trashiest smut around.”

“Andraste, preserve me, please stop.” Cullen was beet red, and buried his face in his hands.

Circling her arms around his neck and playing with his hair, she rocked against him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never thought about that? Not even when you’re taking a whip to an apostate you call your own?” Her smile was teasing, and her expression incredulous. Cullen bit his tongue to distract from the desire seeping steadily through his veins now. The memory of her last flogging was vivid, and judging by the way her eyes sparkled, she was thinking of it, too. Oh, how she’d screamed.

“The big bad Templar and the helpless naughty mage, trapped in the Circle where he has every authority over her?” She grinned nastily. “I know you’ve imagined it. You can’t keep anything from me. I know you’ve considered how good it would feel too hold down some sweet mage charge – ” She took his hand and placed it over her heart, indicating herself,  “ – and ravage her, punishing her simply for what she is.”

All attempts failed. He was hard. Shaking his head, the Commander closed his eyes in shame. “Please don’t go on.”

But she was enjoying this. The minx. “Punishing her for her magic, hurting her though she writhes, forcing her to beg for mercy, but never relenting with this payment for all her teasing… because you know she’s thought about it too. She’s longed for the handsome Templar who watches over her to take her and claim her and keep her under his control, ever since the day she’d first been brought in, the vile apostate, and she’s flirted. And, of course, that kind of behavior  simply could not be tolerated. Isn’t that right, Knight-Captain?” The smile could be heard in her voice, and the sultry quality of this bizarre talk was running straight to his cock.

The Commander groaned. “Inquisitor,” he breathed. “You’re driving me mad.” He would not tell her how real this fantasy had been for him so many years ago, or that it had taken all his strength to suppress it after he’d left the Order.

Her lips found his neck, hands still teasing his scalp, and his thoughts defused into mist. “Mm, I know,” she purred. Then she giggled, and he shivered at the way her breath gusted against his warm neck. ”I just love watching you squirm. Even more than that…” And her hand found the bulge in his breeches, tracing its length so that he made a strained sound in the back of his throat, and she laughed. “…I like riling you up – pushing all your buttons and shaking you ‘til the pressure bursts and you pop like champagne. When you finally blow, you’re so much more violent - and I just love that.”

Cullen had never known, before meeting her, that anyone could use words the way she did – to torture and tease and arouse at inappropriate moments, and to hike his pleasure to impossible reaches in those moments when he was buried in her to the very hilt. He only wished that she didn’t have such poor timing.

He’d like to say he wished her fantasies were not so deviant, but that was the good soldier in him: the part of him whose entire purpose was to serve, to protect, and fight. But there was a part of him that had only woken when he’d met the Inquisitor, and that part relished every second of this. That dark corner of his heart wanted to tear her in half; to ruin her, to mark her, to own her. It shamed him, and he brooded about it on occasion, a fact that made her howl with laugher and only illicit more from him. Every time he thought he could resist the fantasy of hurting her, it seemed that was always when she would come to him – lips swollen, eyes wide, pale flesh dappled with the faint blush of want, begging for him to raise a hand to her, begging for – _anything_. And, Maker, forgive him, how he so loved her begging. The woman had such a way with words, and the perfect body for violence. Her pain tolerance was unspeakable.

“Inquisitor,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his brow furrowing in his desperation to suppress his erection. “You really… need to stop.”

“Why?” came the low retort as a tongue snuck out to trace the shape of his ear.

Trembling and sweating in full armor, he lifted her off his lap with ease, and as he stood, he placed her feet firmly on the ground in front of him so that he towered over her again. She crossed her arms, pouting melodramatically, like a small child.

Despite his determined will to end the sensuality of this particular meeting, he could not help himself: Cullen swooped low, taking her face in his wide leather-gloved hands, and took that damned bottom lip between his teeth. He was not gentle – that would not have gotten to her. He bit hard, the way he knew she liked it, and tugged mercilessly. He was fantastically rewarded by the way her tiny fingers grasped at his feather mantle, bracing herself against the pain. Her gasp of pleasure was so delicious, he felt it made the entire awkward interaction worth his time.

When he let go, she whimpered.

He took her wrists in his hands as she clung to him, a display of dominance. She was swelling with lust and running her tongue over the teeth marks on her lip. “I don’t need a tantrum from you,” he chastised, and he gave her a patronizing half grin. “You need to leave now, my love,” he warned.

“ _But why!?_ ” Her whine was so childish, and it stirred that filthy part of him that she loved - the part that he was still a little frightened by. It took everything in him not to spin her in his arms, shove her face to the desk with his hand at the back of her neck, and spank her with his armored palm until her skin welted and she sobbed for mercy.

Then there came a knock, and he shrugged apologetically, giving her a reproachful look with a hint of amusement.

“That’s why.”

Lavellan finally made for the door as the soldiers entered, looking grumpy and frustrated. She did not exit, however, before licking and sucking the length of her index finger behind the backs of Cullen’s men – so that only her lover could witness the suggestive gesture. The Commander was reduced to an embarrassed, sputtering wreck as he organized the plans on his desk in front of the small group of sniggering soldiers.

And then, with a wink, she vanished.

Silently, Cullen swore that she would pay dearly.


	2. Taunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for face slapping and lots of condescension (my favorite). ;)

“And, Commander, I’ll need you to send some troops into the Storm Coast. There seems to be yet _another_ infestation of red Templars to the west, and I’d like for it to be checked out.” Lavellan looked up from the map at Cullen where he stood proudly across the war table from her, and marveled at his height and distinction for a minute before he responded.

“As you say, Inquisitor,” he said with a bow, eyes averted. They were the very picture of professionalism, but as soon as he had straightened his posture again, his gaze turned predatory, as though a switch had been flipped. She wished she hadn’t noticed this, for it made her heart skip a beat.

Drawing a steadying breath, Lavellan turned her attentions to her other two advisors, but the damage was done. She could feel his eyes burning on the back of her neck, and suddenly imagined him taking her right here in the room where they conducted their most important business. It was here that Lavellan was always professional, no matter how easygoing she was elsewhere. And it was here, now, that she fantasized about her Commander fucking her. _Creators, forgive me_. But she was hardly surprised. With her insatiability, it was bound to happen eventually.

“Leliana, it would be useful if we could send one of your people to… procure… uh… to procure some… err…”

Cullen cleared his throat in the middle of her sentence, and she lost her train of thought. When she glanced up at him, she had to immediately look away for risk of becoming flustered. The Commander was staring at her with a pointed dark expression that said plainly, _You will be screaming for my mercy later_.

“Uh…” She tried again, and her voice cracked. She suddenly wished she could not read him so well.

The Spymaster rolled her eyes. “Inquisitor,” she proclaimed, and Lavellan looked back at her. The pink tinge to her cheeks was not hard to notice, and Josephine snorted behind her clipboard, chuckling and shaking her head at Cullen reprovingly. He was stony faced, for once, and merely shrugged loftily. This had been completely deliberate! Oh, what a wicked man he was.

She hung her head, grinning uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” she tittered, unable to stop herself from laughing even as she went on. It was not the first time their meetings had dissolved into a casual affair; however, flirtation had never been the cause of the disruption before. “So, Leliana, I, uh… had hoped you could send someone to the Western Approach to perhaps search the black market for any useful materials you believe Dagna might… put to good use.”

Leliana bowed her head in understanding, then, with a haughty air about her, she began to drift towards the door. As she went, she waved lazily over her shoulder. “Clearly no more work is going to get done at the moment,” she said with an edge of condescension. “Come, Josephine. It would seem the lovers have no patience for anyone but each other today.”

Josephine hugged her clipboard to her chest, and glared at them both. She seemed to have double in size as she made to intimidate them. “I have long approved of your affair by now, Inquisitor. Commander.” She gave them each a polite bow of her head. “Do not make me regret that by ravishing one another on our war table.”

Cullen snorted with laughter, and as Lavellan turned to look at him she saw that he was finally red in the face as she was. Josephine shrugged defensively. “I just mean that I can understand the temptation!” she exclaimed, then a shadow flitted behind her eyes again as her face went cold. “But seriously? Don’t. Even. Think about it.” And at that, she turned, and left, leaving them speechless in her wake.

Bewildered, the Inquisitor swiveled back to face the commander of her army. He was painstakingly making his way around the table towards her. As he took his time, she leaned her backside on the table, her weight on her palms. “Y’know,” she teased, tracing the edge of the table with a finger, “Josephine’s warning honestly just makes me want to – ”

 _Smack_.

The strike to her cheek made her flushed face sting. “Shut up,” Cullen growled, and her stomach knotted instantly at the deliciously deep vibrations of his voice. But beyond that, the severity with which he now looked down his nose at her, and the casual way in which he’d slapped her – all outside the safety of their quarters – was sending trickles of hot arousal through her core and between her legs. She was wet. She licked her lips.

“Yes, Ser,” she purred, but he smacked her again.

She gasped, and put a trembling hand to her burning face. “I said shut up, mage,” snarled the Commander. Her stunned expression morphed swiftly into a salacious grin.

Relishing his sadism and how well it met her own needs, she found herself also reeling in surprise at his boldness. Calling her names, and hitting her in such a public and forbidden place? This must be hard for him. She loved it, though, and was proud of him for taking the chance.

The truth was, he would have happily done anything to see that smile, and the glisten in those eyes when she was screaming in ecstasy as well as agony. That was worth all the humiliation in Thedas.

That – plus, he liked it, too.

Bowing her head, Lavellan said no more. She simply waited, trying to ignore the way her pulse hammered in her ears.

Placing his hands on the table, on either side of her, Cullen leaned very close to her. Their faces were only inches apart, and his brilliant gaze kept flitting to her mouth. To her surprise, he sniffed, bringing his face a little closer to her neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered. “Maker, forgive me.”

She wanted to ask him indignantly what his intentions were here, but she knew better. Some months ago she had gotten a particularly harsh thrashing as punishment for speaking out of turn while they were playing. Thinking of it now sent fire through her system, and she convulsed with a violent shiver that she could not control. He slipped his hands over hers, and then rested at her wrists, where they gripped tightly.

Demeanor heavy with want for control, eyes narrowed greedily, Cullen pressed himself very close to her. He bent his head to whisper against her lanky ear. “Never forget who is in charge between us,” he rumbled. The vibrations of his dulcet tone sent her heart through the roof. She licked her lips and pressed her cheek to his as he went on. “You may give the orders when we work, but know that even then, it is I who controls you. And when we are blessed with moments alone, like this? When the sun goes down? It is only I who gives the orders. Never forget the power I have.” The hand at her wrist tightened, and she gasped. “And never,” he said silkily, “forget where you belong, _mage_.” He growled this last word with such force it made her wince instinctively, but the roughness of his voice was nothing but decadent to her, and she swooned against him as her breaths quickened. 

After she had told him that the novel dynamic between Templar and mage turned her on, Cullen could not let it go, and as the fantasy appealed to that hidden part of himself, he decide to go with it. The part of him that craved this was a wretched one, and he feared that going to deep into it might trigger buried memories to haunt him again – but he was strong, and he was careful, and so he had thought on it. And now, it was coming to a head, and she was so tantalizing, lean and soft and ripe. Oh, Maker, how he wanted her.

“Always so talkative you are. Always flirting. Always teasing. Tonight you will respond with only _Yes, Ser_ , or _No, Ser,_ or something equally short and appropriate when I ask you a question, but nothing more – and I make no promises about my mercy if you do choose to say ‘no’ to me, mage, so I do advise you to think twice before defying me. Am I understood?”

She simply nodded, but he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and she corrected herself. “Yes, Ser,” she blurted quickly.

“Good girl,” Cullen praised, and she was rewarded with a light tap to the cheek. She smiled up at him, those eyes wide and waiting, sparkling with excitement. She was sinking fast into the drunken stupor submission. It was obvious, and it drove him wild. He needed to touch her. He needed to touch her _now_.

The Commander had been planning to merely intimidate her and then order her back to his quarters before moving any further – but he was rabid with lust for her now: she was just so small, and looked so helpless pinned between him and the war table. The sight was enough to make anyone hard.  He slid his large hand down her torso, and teased past the waistband of her breeches. She gasped quietly as he forced his gloved fingers under the fabric, and yanked aside her smalls deftly.

Cold, rigid leather pressed against her outer lips, the knitted seam of his thumb brushing agonizingly across her clit. He simply held his palm there, allowing her to feel the texture.

“Whom does this belong to?” he asked, and his gravelly voice made her hiss and buck her hips again his hand. He shook his head warningly. “Do not make me ask again, girl.” She loved Cullen’s stern mode. It was so hot.

 She gulped, licked her lips, and said softly, “You, Ser.” This was a game she knew.

Cullen smiled, and the way his scar pulled at his lip made her knees go weak. “Good, girl,” he muttered, and she rocked gently without thinking, anxious for him to touch her harder, faster. But his hand simply stayed there, clamped over her vulva as though protecting it. “And who determines what happens to it? Who decides if you will receive pain or pleasure at any given moment? Who decides if you are allowed to come, hm?”

“You, Ser,” she replied quickly.

“That’s right,” he said shortly. “And have you touched yourself since last we lay together?”

She blanched. This was new. “W- what?”

 _Smack_.

Now _that_ she should have seen coming. Her cheekbone ached. She reached up a hand to touch it, still feeling her pulse between her legs screaming for Cullen’s touch. “You will pay for your disobedience, mage. Do not make things worse for yourself now.”

“Er…” Creators, he was really getting into it. It was perfect.

“Do not make me ask you again.”

She shivered. “Yes, Ser,” she croaked excitedly with a slight bow of her head.

“Is that a yes that you’ve touched yourself recently?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Without my permission, mage?”

The world seemed to stop spinning. She went breathless, and he had to tighten his grip on her wrist to keep her upright. “I… y- yes, Ser?” she said cautiously. Where was he going with this? By the Creators, it was torturously hot.

Cullen shook his head, patronizing her with the disappointed look in his eye. It sent tendrils of arousal through her core to settle where his hand still teased, and she licked her lips, staring at his, and resisting the urge to nibble at that damn scar. “Foolish girl,” he said, quirking an eyebrow and giving her the most delicious half-smile.  “You should know mages are in no position to make those kinds of decisions for themselves.” He leaned close, and tasted her lips with his tongue, but did not kiss her. She whined. “Don’t you know that the Templars are here to watch over you for a _reason_? That it’s for your own good? Are you not willing to give yourself up to that power and do only as instructed?” His lips twitched, almost laughing at himself, still hovering an inch from hers.

This was so utterly silly, and both of them felt completely ridiculous, but it had the desired effect, and it was… bizarrely sexy. It was _wonderful_ to be silly.

“Yes, Ser,” she sighed, smiling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, Ser.”

He narrowed his eyes, and leaned back from her again, searching her face. “You don’t look sorry now, girl, but I can assure you: you will by the end of the night.” She shuddered and moaned at this, uncontrollably – so loudly, she was worried Josephine might hear her. “Hush,” he snapped, pressing suddenly on her clit with his glove so that she had to literally bite her tongue to stop from crying out in surprise. “You will be silent like a good girl, won’t you, mage? You will listen only to me, won’t you?”

She nodded insistently. “Yes, Ser!” She sounded pathetic, desperate to prove herself worthy of more touch – desperate for his mercy.

“That’s a good dumb mage, isn’t it?” And he patted her on the head – like one of his mabari hounds. She gritted her teeth, sexually frustrated and angry, and he only added to that rage as he suddenly withdrew his other hand from her breeches. He stepped back, and straightened his mantle, not looking at her, and giving off a very aloof air. She was panting, mouth wide with shock, and her face was the deepest shade of pink. He had never denied her so much. He’d never had the resolve. She hated it.

She _loved_ it.

“You will follow me to my office,” he instructed; he was now wiping her juices on the leg of his trousers and looking at his damp glove with mild displeasure. “And you will be silent as we go – obedient mage that you are – because you know your place, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ser,” she repeated, and it came out sultry, stifling back another frustrated groan.

He smiled knowingly at her. She smiled back, lips pursed as she held back a giggle.

Cullen took her hand, and the sodden leather against her palm made her blush fiercely. Both grinning from ear to ear, they left the war room.

The Inquisitor could have sworn she heard a distinctive “Ugh,” from Josephine as he tugged her through the door into the great hall, and she smirked. She was beaming with pride.

Cullen often fretted and insisted that he was the lucky one to have her, when it was _she_ who was truly lucky. This man had the incredible courage to say no to lyrium on more than one occasion; the courage to survive the withdrawal; the courage to suffer the persistent nightmares and flashbacks – and this unbelievably brave man chose _her_ , of all people. She often wondered how it was even possible that she’d scored so high, but it didn’t matter.

He was hers; rather, she was _his_. And she was _damn_ proud to be seen dragged roughly through the great hall, uncharacteristically meek in the powerful shadow of the Inquisition’s Commander.


	3. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY VERY IMPORTANT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This chapter contains consensual humiliation, most of it verbal, involving gendered slurs and general insults. Another thing to beware of is lots of face slapping, choking, orgasm denial, and impact play. If this disturbs you just in general or if you think you might be triggered by these kinds of things, please do not read this chapter! Thank you!! .............Also I just realized how long this chapter is and I'm sorry.

The lock clicked behind her, and she turned to look at him, holding herself tightly in a protective sort of hug as her heartbeat leapt in her throat. She was uncomfortably wet, and could not stand still, needing his touch.

“Squirming for me already, are you?” Cullen sneered. He stood so straight and tall, a proud Commander in chief, and she was in awe of him. “What a whore.”

The word went straight to her cunt, and she whimpered. This game was going to get dirty if he was breaking out the insults.

“You know our word, if I go too far?” She nodded, sentencing herself, and it was all over.

“Then kneel,” he demanded, his voice lofty but his gaze cold as steel and shining with lust. The elf sunk to her knees immediately, guided effortlessly by his word. He drew close to her, and as she looked up at him she marveled at just how tiny she felt from down here. Creators, that really got to her.

Cullen removed his gloves, and ran his hands through her hair. “I know how badly you want to obey,” he said, “but you have misbehaved enough today already. No matter how good you are, your punishment will come. Do you understand, mage?” His voice was very quiet, and still threatening.

“Yes, Ser,” she choked, blinking slowly, feeling very faint.

“Good girl.” He stroked her hair, and she nuzzled into his hand like a greedy cat. He chuckled deeply. “So good; so cute.” She smirked. Cute? He pursed his lips as though he knew what she was thinking. “Yes, mage: _cute_. Small, helpless, vulnerable, and at my disposal – hungry for my touch, leaning into it like a pathetic animal. That's all you are: a dumb, cute little animal.” She squeaked, biting back a groan of frustration. Her pulse was racing and she could feel it throbbing in her cunt, _aching_.

He knelt before her, and took her face in his hand, which was warm to the touch. She gasped as he steadied her head, locking eyes with her – piercing hers with their ferocity. “So, what are you, girl?” he asked expectantly.

“An animal, Ser,” she said promptly, sounding eager and proud in her strong voice.

He hit her, but lightly. “Do not sound so pleased with yourself, girl,” he said warningly. “You should be ashamed. You were born this filthy animal, as an apostate, and you will always be one as long as magic runs in your veins. You are useless. Nothing but a menace. I don’t know why I don’t just put you out of your misery myself.”

In any other context, she would have protested and leapt in defense of her magic – but this was a game, one that tickled her in ways she could never explain.

“Yes, Ser,” she agreed, sounding very small this time.

“Yes, what?”

“You should put me out of my misery, Ser. I am a cursed animal, undeserving of your mercy, Ser.”

The Commander stroked her face lovingly, his expression warming up a little. She could tell her deference was pleasing to him. “Good girl,” he cooed, and she sighed. “Very good. So, so good for me, my girl.” She whimpered again, leaning towards him instinctively as she longed for a kiss. “Aw,” he said, and the mocking disdain in his voice was clear. “You want to kiss me, do you, mage?”

She nodded vigorously, feeling the heat rising in her face. “Yes, Ser!”

Shaking his head slowly and staring her mouth, Cullen said, “Not yet, little girl,” and let go of her with a bit of a gruff shove. He stood. “Have more humility. What message would it send to you and all the other mages were I to reward you before punishing you, hm?”

“Of course, Ser,” she said breathlessly, staring up at him with a desperation that made him ridiculously hard. “I’m sorry, Ser.”

He mocked her expression with an exaggerated pout, and she felt the shame creep over her skin, prickling as she went flush. “Aren’t you just adorable?” he said with a disturbing little chuckle. “You said you were sorry earlier, too. But I don’t think you quite understand the meaning of that yet.”

“But I will, Ser?”

He slapped her again, hard this time, so she lurched slightly and let out a soft yelp of surprise. Her face burned. “Do not ask questions,” he hissed menacingly. “That is not your place.”

“Yes, Ser,” she hurried, bowing her head to look at his feet in a gesture of submission. “Of course, Ser.”

Cullen did not respond. She waited a few moments, heart hammering in her ears, and then his armored boots disappeared from view as he walked off. She looked up hesitantly, watching him go.

Flopping himself into the chair behind his desk, be beckoned her to him with a single wave. “You may stand,” he added, and she did, hurrying eagerly to her beloved’s side.

She stood in the manner she knew she must, having learned from their previous games: at the side of his chair, not in front; facing the direction he was, and never facing him. She kept her head down, hands clasped behind her back, awaiting instruction. Her cunt was very wet, and it was starting to dampen the tops of her inner thighs uncomfortably.

Cullen looked up at her, and stroked her arm gently. “So well trained,” he said adoringly. His soft petting turned into teasing scrapes with his fingernails over her bicep, and even through her sleeve, it felt wonderful. She shuddered.

He was smiling, but she could not see it as she loyally kept her eyes to her feet. “You are truly marvelous.” His voice was soft. She smiled. “The things you do to me,” he laughed, “and the things you provoke me to do to you. I would never have believed I could be capable of this, even a year ago.” Her smile widened. She daringly glanced at him for a moment, and they locked eyes. His expression was full of love, and it confirmed for her how right this felt. “Hey,” he snapped suddenly. “You know where you are supposed to be.” His voice had lowered again, become sultry and rich even as the smile still lingered on his lips. “We have been over this in the past, girl. Did I say to look at me?”

“No, Ser,” she said, quickly righting her gaze and focusing on a spot on the floor. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating her.

Then, “Because I am merciful, I will give you a choice.” Her stomach did a somersault, and as he took her hand she felt her breath catch. “You like pain, do you not?” She nodded quickly, licking her lips. “Such as it is with wanton mages,” he sighed playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “Punishment as you know, dear girl, is not meant to be enjoyed, however. Will you enjoy your punishments, my little pain whore?”

“No, Ser.” Though this wasn’t completely true.

“But you will take it.

“Yes, Ser.”

“And you will appreciate it, and thank me for it.”

“Yes, Ser,” she choked, feeling very lightheaded now. Creators, Cullen was really getting good at this. She must have done quite a number on him. Pride surged through her as he suddenly stood.

He moved to stand in front of her. “Look at me.” She did. “Now: a choice.” He traced her lips with his fingers. Her heart fluttered, and she knew her eyes must be heavy with want as they locked with his fierce stare. “The whip? The crop? The belt? Or my hand?” She pursed her lips as these options swam tantalizingly in her skull. “Choose _two_.”

Lavellan swooned, fingers squirming as she held them fast behind her. She thought for a minute, taking her time before drawing a deep breath and replying. “Your hand… and the belt. Please, Ser,” she added politely. He smirked.

“Hoping it’ll be light today, are you? Choosing the easy way out?”

“No, Ser,” she said hurriedly. “I –”

Cullen held up a hand, and she fell silent, feeling slightly worried. “I did not ask you for an explanation, mage. I gave you a choice and you made it. You are very obedient.” He stroked her face with both hands, and she smiled dreamily, the worry easing out of her. “Such a good girl,” he praised, knowing the effect it would have on her – knowing how weak it made her knees and how it emptied her head. He soothed her with gentle shushing sounds, trailing his fingers along the perimeter of her face and delicately sliding them through her hair, tickling her scalp. She was a mewling wreck by the time he stopped, panting and desperate, eyes watery and wide like a child, begging him silently for more attention.

She watched as he stepped away from her to clear a bit of space on his desk – more carefully than the first time they’d made love here, she recalled. He had been so gentle then, but the animal in him had shown itself as he swept all his belongings to the ground to make way for their bodies.

Stepping back, the fully armored Commander stood tall, nose in the air, radiating superiority. “Remove your blouse and shoes,” he ordered coolly, and she did. He narrowed his eyes, watching her carefully as her fingers fumbled along the row of buttons. When she shrugged the material off her shoulders, feeling exposed, Cullen let out a hiss. She kicked off her shoes, finally, and he gestured to the desk. He needed no words to tell her what he wanted then. She understood his silent demand for compliance, and got in place. Her breasts prickled with the cold as they pressed to the cool smooth surface of her Commander’s desk. Her belly knotted, and she waited.

But the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies was a patient man as well as a sadistic one. He wanted to take his time with her; to play with her like a cat with a mouse before devouring her whole. She knew this, and it frustrated her to no end, even though she loved it.

Slowly, Cullen inched the waistband of her breeches down, sliding them torturously over her hips. The air felt strange on her flushed skin, and as he finally slipped the fabric past the apex of her legs (pulling her smalls along with it), the air struck her hot, wet cunt like _ice_ , and she hissed at the sensation. He chuckled as she stepped out of the crumpled trousers, and tossed them aside.

“Cold?” he asked. She nodded. “Here?” And to her surprise, he touched her – lovingly, gingerly – at the opening of her aching folds. She nodded vigorously, hoping he would press into her with his finger, but like last time, he denied her, and withdrew. She whimpered. “Oh, already so wet, I see,” he chastised. “You really are disgusting, mage, growing wet over your submission to your betters.” His voice was a furious snarl that had her head spinning. “Such filthy, lewd behavior ought to be corrected. I wouldn’t want your whore nature getting out of control, lest I find you spreading your legs for every Templar who barks an order at you.” She moaned, and he ran a hand over her bare backside, running little swirls over the expanse of chilled flesh.

There was no warning before the first slap, and she jolted, biting her lip and gripping the edge of the desk tightly to brace herself. Her breathing came in heavy bursts. Oh, Creators, how good that felt.

A fist in her hair told her she had misbehaved somehow, and she whined as he tugged her head back in a deeply uncomfortable position. “Where,” he growled, “are your manners? What do you say when a superior takes precious time out of his day to beat such a stupid mage?”

Her face was surely flaming red now. His words curled in her chest, gripping her lungs and making it hard to think. But even with the strained position of her neck and the pain in her scalp, she managed: “Th- thank you, Ser! I’m sorry, Ser!” It came out as a slight sob, and he laughed as he let go of her hair again.

“There’s a good girl,” he said softly, amusement dancing in every syllable.

The next hit fell, but this time she was ready for it. It stung a little, and the twinge shot straight to her already aching cunt. Her eyes rolled back. Suffering this without being touched was clearly going to be difficult – and he had barely started.

 _Smack_.

The Inquisitor let out the tiniest squeals as his force increased, and sighed between each hit when he softly stroked the impact point. She made sure to thank him every time. He steadied her with a hand on her left hip as he worked the right side of her ass raw with his rough palm – over, and over, and over again. The loud crack of each spank rang in their ears. Delicious. Not enough. Never enough. She felt his entire weight behind each whack, jerking her whole body forward as she struggled not to cry out.

The right half of her ass was on fire, now. She wished he would take turns from one cheek to the next, to give this one a break, but that was for him to decide. She could feel her skin protesting, and felt her chest clench every time he withdrew his hand from her, hoping this would be the last one.

Her knuckles went white as she gripped the surface, and at the next hit, she cried out. She could not control it. The wail was forced from her automatically as his palm met her sore flesh; cause and effect, like pushing a button.

At this, Cullen stopped. She was shaking, her breath shuddering, face and ass both burning for different reasons. “Th- thank you,” she panted, “Ser.” He played his fingers over the tender skin, and she gasped, for she felt his touch as a tingling pinprick twisting through her nerves. Creators, she loved it. The masochist in her was on the verge of exploding from joy, and she knew it had only just started.

“You are welcome, dear girl,” he said with relish, and she could hear the strain in his voice that told her he was hard from this. It thrilled her.

The moment did not last long, however. He shifted, gripped her right hip, and began a fresh onslaught on her left side. She gave a dry sob as he started, and forgot to thank him again.

There was a pause, then a searing twinge as he dug his fingernails into the reddened portion of her ass. “Are you complaining, mage?” he said disapprovingly. “All my efforts to care for you and keep you safe; to train you after your years as an apostate to make you a more obedient charge; to protect you from all the other Templars who would surely take advantage of a vulnerable whorish beast like you… and you complain when I’m kind enough to take my hand to you?” She could hear the smirk in his tone, both of them giggling internally at the silliness of the role-play they were enjoying so much.

She shook her head, biting her lip to fight a smile. “No, Ser,” she said calmly. “I’m sorry, Ser. Thank you for beating me, Ser.”

“You will take the rest of your beating like a proper whore, now, won’t you? And you will thank me for every stroke.”

“Yes, Ser,” and this time it left her on a moan.

He began. She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Ser. Thank you, Ser. _Thank you, Ser_.” The mantra filled him and surrounded him, egging him on. His arm would not get tired, she knew; the man wielded heavy swords and shields on a daily basis. He would continue until he felt she’d had enough. He would hit her until he’d read from her body language and heard it in the manner of her gasps that she could take no more.

When her gratitude broke, given shakily on the edge of a pained cry, he stopped again. He was not finished for the night though, and she knew he was stopping now so that he would not tire her out yet. The thought terrified her, and excited her – a fact he noticed.

She was slippery, thighs slick with her own juices, and it was with no effort that he sunk his middle finger into those swollen pink lips.

Lavellan moaned shrilly and tried to squirm, but he held her firmly in place with his other hand on her back. He hummed softly, enjoying this. He did not move his hand. He simply rested there, finger buried inside of her – just a single finger. Creators, this was unfair. This was _cruel_ , she thought.

“You are dripping,” he said matter-of-factly. Her toes curled. She wanted to spread her legs and lean backwards against his hand, but she knew better. “Such a filthy, greedy little cunt: soaking wet in response to punishment? _Disgusting_. How anyone would want to touch a desperate thing like you is beyond me. You should be grateful that at least one of your superiors does not mind it, and would still be willing to claim and to fuck such a nasty, worthless cunt.” Her stomach turned.

She _almost_ wished he’d never learned how she liked to be spoken to this way. _Almost_. But she honestly reveled in it. The humiliation rolled over her in a pleasant wave, and her walls pulsed hard around his finger.

Then he withdrew again, and she whined, long and loud. She sounded pathetic.

Cullen wiped his wet finger on her enflamed buttocks with a low chuckle.  “Follow,” he said, and she slid backwards off the desk obediently, dropping to her hands and knees to follow at his heels the way he’d once admitted he loved. The response was immediate. He had obviously been expecting her to walk, and his eyes swam with enraged lust as his chest – still armored – rose and fell heavily. He licked his dry lips, tongue lingering on that stupid scar. Was he trying to torture her? Probably.

They did not go far. He sat in his chair again, and leaned back, fingertips pressed together in contemplation as he stared down at her. She wanted to sit back on her heels, but in her current condition…

“Remove my armor, mage.”

Lavellan’s heart leapt. Her ears went pink as the blush ran deep. “Yes, Ser,” she said, voice cracking. “I am _honored_ , Ser.” And she meant it.

“Mm,” he purred, sounding quite relaxed. “Good.” He closed his eyes, and offered her his arm.

She crawled forward a little, settled between his legs, and began on his gauntlet, unbuckling each strap with care. She worked deftly, frequently looking up at him to watch his relaxed face – lined, scarred, angular, scruffy, and gorgeous. His blonde curls were still perfectly in tact, and she wanted so badly to run a hand through them, to see him pout and scramble to fix it. Chuckling at the thought, she put the unfastened gauntlet aside, and moved to his other arm.

Eventually he opened his eyes to watch her, and his hawk-like gaze sent chills through her. Their eyes met on occasion while she worked, and she smiled shyly when they did. His stare was piercing, agonizing, and it raked over her naked body in such a way that made her feel tiny and insignificant – while simultaneously feeling like the most important and beautiful thing on earth. How did he manage that, she wondered?

She scooted closer on her knees, and reached up to unfasten his regal mantle. He took it from her, and placed it with great care on the side of the desk that they had not used. The same was done with his pauldron before she began to work the fastenings on her Commander’s breastplate. He smirked down at her, a salacious smirk that seemed contagious, and soon her face was twisting to fight her grin. He brushed a hair out of her face as she undid another buckle, and rested his palm on her cheek adoringly. She kissed his palm, caught up in the sweetness of the moment, and he slapped her for it. She giggled slightly even as her face jerked to the side, and he soothed the afflicted spot on her cheek with his thumb.

The last fastening was undone, and he lifted his arms lazily so that she could slip it from his torso. She had to stand to do this, and did so. She bowed her head, standing aimlessly with his armor in her hands until he took it from her. He placed it on an armor stand he’d erected in the corner of his office recently (for this purpose alone), and returned. He looked so touchable in his underclothes, the simple tunic and breeches flattering the hard muscles of his shape.

“You are not finished,” he reminded her. His greaves and boots, she realized, still shone around his calves and feet.

She dropped to her knees, watching his lips part in gratification as she did. “I am sorry, Ser,” she said quickly, setting to work again.

As the second greave fell away, she had a sudden idea. He was torturing her, so it was only fair that she torture him right back – within the rules of the game, of course.

Before unbuckling his boot, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the wave of humiliation and even disgust she was surely about to feel. Then, placing her forearms to the floor, palms flat out in front of her in a deep bow, she reverently kissed the toe of his boot.

She had never done this before, and the response was priceless. He let out a low hiss and an actual _whimper_. Taking it a step further, she put her hands on the boot itself, and pressed her mouth against it again, solemnly this time in another long, devout kiss.

 _Both_ of them moaned at this gesture, and as she moved on to his other boot to worship at that altar as well, she felt her cunt ache almost painfully with need. He cursed under his breath.

Looking up, Lavellan found her Commander to be exquisitely flush, panting, and even trembling. She smiled, doing her best to look innocent and doe-eyed before bending to kiss his boot once more.

He groaned. “Oh, _sweet Maker_ – get the fuck up, girl,” he growled suddenly, and he sounded terribly hoarse. She obeyed, head down, but he put a hand to her chin and forced her to look up at him. He searched her face hungrily, and then – _finally_ – swooped low to kiss her.

She moaned into him, struggling to keep her hands to herself as her heartbeat drummed hard against her ribcage to a beat that screamed to touch him, hold him close. But he had not told her she could touch him, and she was going to be as obedient as she could be tonight no matter how difficult it got. So she stood tensely, clenching her fists to her sides, while the broad-shouldered Commander encircled her, devouring her mouth thirstily.

Then – very suddenly – he shoved her away. He was smiling deviously, shaking his head at her. “You disgusting whore,” he sneered. “You tempt me too much, mage, and it is testing my mercy.” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. Then he said, “I’ve changed my mind. You have no business to stand in my presence, girl. On your knees again. _Now_.”

She sunk to the ground again immediately, skin dappled with rising color under his condescension. “Yes, Ser. I’m sorry, Ser. Please be merciful, Ser,” she begged. She knew begging would only bring herself more pain, but she also knew it would make him hard, and she couldn’t help but nudge him along more. Her ass was stinging. She could feel her pulse throbbing in the flesh there, as was the way with sensitive skin.

“Do not beg, you stupid whore,” he said, his lip curling at her. _Damn it. That fucking lip_. She bit her own just staring at it. “You know very well that I will show no mercy here. Not to an apostate _whore_. I don’t know why you bother trying.” But he knew perfectly well she was toying with him – trying to get him to touch her out of desperation. “Finish removing my boots, idiot girl, then kneel properly; proudly, just for me.” She did, with trembling fingers, and put them neatly to the side before straightening up, hands behind her back, head down again.

It all happened very fast. He tugged a fistful of her hair with one hand, forcing her head still, while opening the front of his breeches with the other. Her heart soared.

She opened her mouth dutifully as his cock emerged, beautifully red and swollen, shiny at the tip from overexcitement – but he slapped her, and forced her jaw closed. “Do you think,” he spat, looking fearsome, “I want a disgusting whore’s mouth to touch my cock?” She went rigid with disbelief, and he grinned at her genuine horror. Her cunt ached. _This_ was true torture. He held her by the scalp some distance away, and began to stroke himself in front of her. She whined miserably, and felt her eyes well up.

“Are you going to cry, mage?” he mocked. “ _Cry_ , then. It would only make me come harder.” His breath was picking up. “I _could_ fuck your stupid throat if I didn't mind degrading myself – mm – but either way your mouth is _far_ better put to use cleaning my boots, as you’ve already demonstrated. Disgusting – ” He removed his hand from his cock to slap her again. “ – Indecent – ” Another slap, to which she yelped. “– Unclean  _whore_.”

She blinked furiously, trying to avoid actually crying. She was so turned on it _scared_ her.

“Good. Just kneel there and accept whatever I give you, mage. It’s all that your pathetic life is good for.”

And he _spit_ upon her.

It wasn’t much, but the shock struck her like a kick to the gut, and she wailed. They had only ever discussed spitting, but had yet to put it into practice.

Her tears fell, and her cunt pulsed. She felt she might actually climax just from the way he was talking to her, but how pathetic she would feel if she did. She let out one loud anguished sob, and he was overwhelmed. “Look at me,” he hissed, and as they locked eyes, he came.

The stream of it fell across her chin, neck, and chest. Some was in her hair. There were still tears in her eyes – even as she moaned, even as come dripped into the hollow of her clavicle, and Cullen grinned. She wondered if he’d meant it; if her tears turned him on.

“Again,” he said breathlessly, tucking himself away, though he was still a bit hard, “your manners escape you.”

Looking horrified and embarrassed, she said, “I’m so sorry, Ser. Thank you, Ser. Thank you.”

“For what? I want to hear it.”

“Thank you for coming on me, Ser.”

“Why?”

She blinked, and thought for a moment. “Because I am disgusting and I should be grateful that you are willing to use me this way, Ser.” Her voice was tentative, uncertain if she had spoken too much for his approval.

But to her great relief, he smiled. “Very good, girl; very good. I’m so proud of you.” He stroked her hair, and her eyes fluttered closed. His gentle touch swept all conscious thought away in a wave of relief, love, and devotion.

“Now,” he said, and her eyes snapped open again to hang on his every word. “You have another choice, mage.” He stepped away from her, and she made a sound like an injured puppy. She watched him remove the belt from his waistband, and the realization dawned on her.

He was examining her face, closely, and she knew he was waiting to see if she would use her stop signal. But she could take this. She could take so much more. He called her a pain whore to humiliate her, because that’s what she liked – but it was also true, and she accepted it. He loved that about her, and she loved to give him the satisfaction of watching her take _everything_ he gave her.

She smiled slightly to show him she was okay, and he nodded in understanding. He then cleared his throat importantly. “So, girl, which will you have? Back, or bottom?” His eyes glistened. “The choice is yours.”

Back, or bottom? _Oh, Creators_. If he spared her back, she’d be able to carry a staff without pain tomorrow, but she’d sacrifice her ability ride her mount for a _week_ , probably. If he worked on her back, she would suffer all over, for at _least_ a day. He’d whipped her back before, but it was always risky. He’d hurt her a couple of times this way, but with practice, he had become very good at exerting the right amount of pressure so that he would not damage her shoulders. It was not hard for a man so well trained at wielding weaponry safely

She was finally decided. “Back,” she said firmly – then, blushing, swiftly attached the required, “Ser.” It was too late to turn back now.

“Thank me for being generous enough to let you choose, you selfish little brat.”

She shuddered. “Thank you for allowing me to choose, Ser. You are a good and merciful Commander. I am so grateful, Ser.”

He slapped her. “Enough. Don’t be a suck-up.” But his eyes were twinkling proudly all the same. “Now, you know the drill. You’ve earned enough punishment to have it memorized by now, I’d imagine,” he said, gesturing to the blank wall by the door. “Hands against the wall.”

She got shakily to her feet, using her arm to wipe up the bit of semen that had gotten on her face.

“Faster.”

Scurrying to the spot he’d indicated, she winced. Her ass was killing her. This was going to be bad. As she moved, she felt the slickness between her legs glide sickeningly down her upper thighs and along the crease of her ass – but she ignored it. Sighing, she steeled herself, taking a moment to breathe and roll her shoulders a bit before placing her hands on the wall, a foot apart.

Cullen ran his fingers down her spine, and she shivered. “Gorgeous,” he whispered softly. It was a moment outside the borders of their game, but she smiled widely. Creators bless him; he was wonderful. She loved him terribly. His touch lingered on her lower back, tracing her dimples.

Then he withdrew, and she could feel just from the way his presence changed, that he was feeling lustful again. The seriousness in his voice returned as he said, “And what do you say when you receive such an undeserved compliment?”

“Thank you, Ser. I am undeserving, Ser.”

She could hear the grin in his words. “Good girl. Are you ready?”

Taking a slow deep breath and focusing on the weight of her feet on the floor, she closed her eyes, and nodded. “Yes, Ser,” she said gravely, and braced herself.

“You have my permission to scream,” he said before starting, and it made her heart lurch excitedly. “Let the entire Circle know what a whore you are, giving yourself to whatever Templar will have you, a glutton for submitting to that power. Pathetic. Disgusting masochistic wench. They should _all_ know what happens to apostate whores who dare flirt with their betters.”

Lost in his words, she almost forgot what was coming, but then –

_Thwack!_

The leather struck her across the shoulders, biting the flesh so that she gasped. It stung, but he was starting light. He was good to her that way. She took a breath, and choked out, “Th – thank you, Ser.”

“Mm,” Cullen hummed approvingly. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”

Another strike, and she lurched against her will. She hung her head as she took her next calming breath, and swallowed hard. “Thank you, Ser.”

He kissed a trail along the blossoming red marks. “You are _so_ welcome, girl,” he said, and he sounded heavy with yearning. She wondered if he was going to get hard again soon. Would it be too much to hope that he’d fuck her? She prayed he would. Creators, _please_.

Then his lips were gone, and she braced herself again.

Her gasps became squeals soon, each one punctuated with the expected “Thank you, Ser!”

Between each blow, she could not hear him over her own cries, but Cullen was panting, swallowing back moans. The belt bit deep, welting her, but skillfully avoiding her spine and torso. He knew exactly what he was doing.

It was not long before every echoing whip ended on a high shriek and slid into a brief sob before rolling out a stuttered, “Tha – thank you… S- Ser.” Soon there were tears on her face, too – a fact that seemed to stir something very dark in the Commander.

“You are doing so well, my girl,” he coddled, running his fingers through her hair. “I know that you can take more, can’t you? Weren’t you built for this? To be used and damaged to my heart's desire? Isn’t this all you’re good for?”

He knew exactly what to say. Through her tears, she moaned, squirmed, rocking her hips towards him unconsciously. The pulse in her cunt was quick and insistent, and it was starting to really hurt. She nodded obediently. “Y- yes, Ser,” she breathed.

“So what do you want, mage? Hm? What does my nasty little bitch want from me now?”

Lavellan bit her lip. Was this a trick question? She didn’t even care. The pain was too great for her to care. She needed to ask for it. “I want you to fuck me, Ser,” she cried shamelessly. “Please, Ser. Please.”

“Pathetic.” He stood back, and raised the leather to her again. She screamed as the pain ripped through her, squeezing her eyes shut to help herself endure it. “Try again, you stupid, useless brat. _What do you want?”_

Then she understood. She knew this game so well, and she moaned as the desire rippled in her gut. “I want more, Ser.”

“More what?”

“I want you to beat me more, Ser,” she said impatiently through gritted teeth. “Please. Hit me, Ser. Hit me.”

“There’s the good masochist whore I know and cherish,” he said fondly, and he then obliged.

She could feel her skin bruising in stripes across her shoulders. The agony mingled with her arousal, and it felt _spectacular_. She did not scream this time, but groaned lewdly before thanking him.

Her mind was fuzzy. She felt she had forgotten how to be in charge of her own body. It was becoming quite the task to remain standing.

“Very good, girl. I knew you could take more. You are such an impressive whore, you know. Desperate and stupid, but impressive.”

This fueled her, and she became rabid with the need to please him, to prove herself. “Yes, Ser. I am desperate and stupid. Thank you, Ser.” She heard a sharp intake of breath. Cullen clearly desired her, and it sounded like he was struggling to suppress it.

The beating went on, her screams filling his office and echoing through the hole in the ceiling that opened into Cullen’s sleeping quarters. Dimly, she wondered who really _could_ hear her, and if there were friends of hers or soldiers of his standing outside the door right now, listening to her suggestive cries. Would they think he was abusing her? Would they think their Commander sick? Would they hold less respect for their beloved Inquisitor?

Somehow, and she could _never_ explain why, this thought made the next few hits even more bearable. She was so turned on, it had become like a shield to her pain. Her screams were merely reflexive now, and were always sandwiched by moans of pleasure. She was starting not to feel it, and her “Thank you’s” were becoming brief, sultry afterthoughts.

That was when he finally stopped.

Cullen’s ragged breathing met her ear, and she heard the telltale clunk of the belt coiling to the floor. His hands trailed over her hips as he kissed her neck, letting his tongue dash out to taste her. She was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, but so was he. “Fuck,” he breathed. She grinned. “You look…” He shook his head, completely overcome by the sight of her red, swollen shoulders and backside.

“Thank you, Ser,” she said. He did not need to finish the sentence. She knew what he meant. Relief washing over her, she let her hands drop from their post on the wall at last.

Grabbing her by the throat, he turned her to look at him. He applied just enough pressure that her breathing became difficult, but she was not struggling too much. It was just enough to make her light headed. He shook his head, eyes raking her from head to toe. “Fucking whore,” he said, licking his lips hungrily. “Hands and knees. Now.” She obeyed immediately, without question.

 _Please_ , her mind screamed. _Please fuck me. Please. Touch me, at least. Give me something_. “Yes, Ser,” she panted. She had not realized she was trembling, but as she got into position and spread her legs optimistically, she found that holding her weight up was difficult on shaking limbs.

Knees hit the floor behind her. Her heart seemed to stop. She could hear him cursing vaguely under his breath, heard fabric shifting, then – 

The world around them froze. She let out a sob that might as well have been a grateful prayer, for the head of his cock was pressing into her dripping cunt, and she felt the gentle tears of relief begin to flow. “ _Thank_ you!” she sobbed. “Thank you, Ser. Thank you so much, Ser.”

“Don’t fucking move, whore,” Cullen warned in his most dangerous rumbling tone – a sound that turned her nerves to ashes, it was so hot.

With a growl, he slid all the way inside of her to settle there, buried against her cervix – drowning in the greedy heat of a cunt that had been starved for touch. “You don’t _deserve_ me inside you,” he hissed, pulling almost all the way out so that she whined. Her fingers and toes were curling desperately, and it was all she could do not to busty into heavy tears. As he inched back inside, he said, “You are lucky I find you pleasing enough to fuck, you filth. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Ser,” she agreed numbly.

His pace was agonizingly slow, and her knees were trembling badly now. She worried she might fall.

“This cunt is so hungry, it's disgusting. No one would want to fuck a nasty bitch like you. _No one_. You are fortunate that I am willing to disgrace myself enough by sticking my dick in something so cringe-worthy just to get myself off.”

Her voice was so shrill, she was sure she sounded very stupid. “Yes! Ser!” Her face felt hot. The humiliation ran deep, and made her core clench around the Commander’s cock.

“It’s all you’re good for,” he said thickly, taking a fistful of her hair in both hands, jerking her head back. She whimpered. His pace began to pick up. “Your body is only worth being used as a hole to pleasure myself in. Just a hole. A thing. A toy.” He spit upon her lower back, and it made her feel so low. So small. Helpless. Powerless – while his overbearing power consumed her completely. She could not think. Nothing existed but the feel of his cock sliding wetly in and out of her, and the burning humiliation of his words.

“Let me hear you say it, mage. This is all you’re good for.”

“This is all I’m good for, Ser.”

“Mm,” and his thrusts quickened a little more. She was on the verge of coming just from this, but knew better. The effort of stopping herself was making her feel dizzy, and a little sick. “Tell me you’re glad to be locked away now.” He grunted. “Tell me how happy you are to be under the control of the Templars. Hm? Tell me.”

Lavellan keened. She collapsed onto her elbows, and this shifted the angle dramatically. Cullen moaned loudly, hands still tight in her hair. “I…” she tried, but could barely think. For her insubordinate delay in response, she received a sharp slap on her already burning ass, and cried out. “I’m sorry, Ser!” she squealed. “I… I am lucky… that I was caught by the Templars. This is the only life I deserve, Ser. The only life I want.”

“That’s right,” he laughed, now running his hands down the sore welts across her shoulders, relishing in the way she winced and squirmed in agony. “I always knew you craved captivity, and now you have it. Now you’re nothing.” He spit upon her again, and she cursed him instinctively. “Watch your language, girl. Who the fuck do you think has the power here? I could destroy you. I don’t care what fucking magic you have,” and she could not remember a time when he’d sounded more terrifying, “I will beat you _bloody_ , do you hear me?”

He began to truly fuck her – hard. She was jerked forward with every deep thrust, and the tears simply would not stop now. His hips pounded at her bruised ass, and she took each painful thud diligently, so grateful to have his cock ravaging her. He was right. She _was_ lucky. He was _incredible_.

Her lust-drunk mind was not working right. She could barely remember her own name. All she knew was this man, this long cock, and the sensations surrounding it, spreading from that sweet spot, bubbling in her lower belly…

“I… I…” It was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

“No.” He _knew_ , and pulled out sharply. She let out a cry like a wounded dog, feeling her cunt walls pulse around nothing, grasping at the air, rippling with the beginnings of a denied orgasm.

She slammed a fist against the floor, and sobbed. “P- please.”

“No. This is not for you. What did we say, girl, hm?” He ran his fingers down the length of her torso, and over the curve of her ass. “You are a hole to be fucked; a cunt to be filled at my leisure. You are not meant to feel pleasure. Understand that. Accept that.” His voice became deceivingly soft. “Can you accept that, girl? Or do I need to get my belt again?”

She writhed, and he dug his fingers into her hips. “I’ll be good! I promise. I won’t come. I shouldn’t. It’s not my place. I’m sorry. Please. Please fuck me. I need you. I _need_ you.”

Snaking his hand around her throat, he lifted her slightly, so that she was forced to push herself back up onto her palms instead of resting on her forearms. He squeezed hard, and she choked.

Again, he entered her, slick and soft and blissful. She could have cried from the bliss, had she the air for it. All she could do, though, was close her eyes and pray to stop herself from climaxing. She thought of her gods, her clan, anything to numb the pleasure.

Cullen was grunting, the length of him splitting her in two with every forceful thrust. She could feel him grow warmer, feel the pulse quicken in his palm that was flush against her jugular, but suddenly things were growing very dim. She was far away. Or, maybe he was.

She saw stars. Her head pounded. She could not breathe. She made an ugly gagging sound, and that was his cue. He let go.

The air rushed back into her lungs like the promise of life, and the massive breath she drew in caused her to clench around her Commander’s cock violently.

He growled at the feeling. Clutched her hips. Dug his fingernails into her skin. Pounded into her a few more times. Grunted – and for the second time that night, he came hard.

Jets of hot semen filled her, and she revered the way it spurted against her insides, even though she could not join him in orgasm.

He held himself there for a few long moments, issuing the last drops into her while she held herself still, mouth agape, tears still streaming. It spilled out of her still-aching cunt when he withdrew – a sloppy mess, running down her leg. A string of it reached from her swollen red lips to the tip of his cock. He laughed at this, and sat back on the floor somewhere behind her.

It was a minute before Cullen was coherent enough to attend to her. “For an apostate, you’ve got a heavenly cunt,” he said with a laugh. His words were patronizing, but his tone was beginning to soften, trying to ease her out of it, not too fast. She smiled weakly.

“Here,” he said gently, and crawled over to kneel in front of her. He helped her push herself onto her knees, and both of them ignored the way his come trickled down her thighs. Staring straight into her eyes and taking her hands in his, he asked, “What do you need?”

She began to cry. She couldn’t help it. This often happened after they played, and it surprised neither of them – though Cullen still felt an uncontrollable twang of guilt and shame. He was still learning to rid himself of this reaction, but it was a process. He held her close as she cried, so they were two kneeling figures clinging to each other for dear life. “My love,” he whispered understandingly. “Tell me what you need.”

Looking up at him, she sniffed, trying to stem the tears. Then, to his surprise, she laughed. “I need to _come_ , you git.”

His deep, rumbling laughter seeped into her pain and held her, comforting her. She was smiling through the tears, and that was what comforted _him_.

He pet her hair, and kissed her chastely. She wanted more, and tried to drag him back for more of a passionate kiss, but he swatted her hands away with a chastising look. “Not yet,” he warned, and offered her his hands. She took them, and he stood, pulling her to her feet. She winced, her back and shoulders throbbing in protest.

“Here,” he repeated, and led her to the desk again. “Bend over,” he ordered, but his tone was completely different.

A little hesitant, she obeyed, and moments later she was rewarded for this decision in the best of ways.

Warm, wet Cullen mouth – licking, sucking, teasing slowly, languid and lavish and perfect. He devoured her as though she was sustenance.

She had taught him well. Very well.

His tongue swirled around her outer lips, tracing the crease of her entrance, and brushing against her clit. He teased her, but she was so close already, so worked up and frustrated from this whole experience, she could not hold out.

“Please,” she begged, and added, “Ser,” out of habit. He grinned against her messy swollen cunt, and delved deep with his tongue, tasting his own semen mixed with hours of her arousal. She was wriggling, thrusting her hips backward against his face, and he had to dig his fingers into her thighs to hold her still so he could do his job.

That minute gesture of his control was all it took after everything he’d put her through. Just as he pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit, she let out a deep, guttural moan that _shook_ through her, vibrating into his mouth. She gushed, and he continued, urging every last drop out of her. “

"Thank you, Ser,” she sobbed as she came – her habitual mantra. It stirred him, and his grin widened, but that did not stop him from lavishing her martyr of a cunt with more of the passion and attention it deserved.

The orgasm tore through her in rolling waves. Her limbs tingled. Colors burst beneath her closed eyelids as her head swam with the warm ecstasy. It spread to her joints, relaxing them - her fingers, her toes. Tiny sparks of magic danced at her fingertips, and she clenched her hands into fists to remain somewhat in control. It was terrible, and beautiful, and after the fourth peak, she was wincing. “Stop,” she pleaded in a strained voice, and he did so immediately with a dazed smile on his face.

She lay limply over the edge of the desk, breathing hard, too come-drunk and numb from pain to do anything more than simply lie there. Her knees would surely not keep her up for long, and she was glad Cullen was there to make sure she did not fall – glad she could put such trust in him.

Indeed, he moved fast, dragging his cushioned chair over to her, and tipping her backward onto it. She cringed, and whimpered. “Ow.”

“I know,” he said, pouting in unison with her as he sat on the corner of the desk next to her. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“You are not.”

“I am!” He raised a hand to stroke her face, and she leaned into it, humming with pleasure. “You are so beautiful. I love you so much. And I _am_ sorry. If that was too much…”

“No,” she said quickly, and he raised his eyebrows at her. Her lids were heavy with exhaustion as she smiled, and brought a slender hand up to trace that beloved scar on his lip – damp from her juices. “It wasn’t too much,” she whispered, and then added with a chuckle, “it was surprising, though.”

“Was it?”

Lavellan rolled her eyes and made a face, very much her usual self as she started finally catching her breath. “Uh… yeah!” she said, as though this was obvious. “I mean, we’ve done… most of that,” she said, blushing, and she smiled to see the Commander blushing too, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “But the role play was new, obviously,” she pointed out, “and the spitting? You also… well…” she looked pointedly at him, pursing her lips. “You denied me. A lot. Certainly more than I’m used to.” He laughed at this.

“I did, at that.”

She stuck out her tongue, and he gave her a playfully patronizing look. “Don’t be a little brat,” he warned gently, and she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t get me started again,” she purred coyly.

“Hard not to,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re insatiable.”

“I know.“ She frowned. “But honestly after that beating?” and he felt a knot in his throat, “I don’t think I can take any more pain for at least another couple of weeks. Makes me a little worried about going out on missions, to be honest. You really got me good this time.”

Cullen ran his fingers through her hair, empathy gripping him. “I always do,” he said quietly. “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

Smirking, she said again, “I know.” Then she touched his knee reassuringly. “And I _love_ it. Stop being so ashamed of yourself every time we play. You know how hot this makes me, and I know how hot it makes you, even if you can barely admit it to yourself most of the time.”

“The _thing_ ,” he said suddenly, perking up, and she stared at him in puzzlement. He blinked, and looked mortified. “The thing… that you did…” He went red, and covered his face.

Lavellan let out a howl of laughter that resonated in her chest and made her injured shoulders twinge in disapproval. “You mean when I kissed your boots, don’t you?” He groaned, and clamped his palms over his face more tightly as though attempting to truly disappear behind them for good. It made her laugh harder. Creators, he was so darn _cute_ with his blonde hair tousled, ears pink with embarrassment.

After a moment, once she’d gotten her mirth under control, she pried his fingers away from his face one by one, until he was left to stare at his knees again while she clutched his large calloused hands in her dainty ones. “Hey,” she said. “I did it because I thought you might like it. If it was too much, just tell me. I know you have your limits too.”

He shook his head, and looked up at her with a pained expression. “I loved it,” he croaked, and he looked miserable. She laughed heartily again. She just couldn’t help it anymore; she was in such a good mood.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I… I don’t know.”

She kissed his fingertips. “I don’t know for certain,” she said, “but I think it’s normal.” He tilted her head questioningly. “To be ashamed, I mean, when you’re into this stuff. At least at first, maybe. I mean, I never was, because in my clan, people were very open about varying sexual preferences. Nothing was weird, as long as it didn’t happen before you’d courted and married.” She chuckled. “But you didn’t grow up with that kind of acceptance, and it hasn’t been very long since we’ve started… this thing that we do,” and the corners of her lips twitched, “and it’s probably going to take you a lot more time to accept this about yourself. But I think it’s normal. I mean, I talked to Bull, and…”

“ _Bull?_ ” The color drained from his face. “The _Iron_ Bull? You… What did you…?”

“Oh, relax, I didn’t give him details,” she said. “He’s just one of the only people I know outside of my clan who’s ever talked to me about this stuff without judgment, and I told him we were starting down this road… and he told me he thought you might take a lot of time to warm up to it.” Then, just to see him squirm, she went on. “I believe his exact words were, ‘ _Cullen, huh? That man’s got such a stick up his ass, it’s gonna take years to get it out and get him to stop beating himself up about it. It’ll be fun, I’m sure, but good luck with that_.’”

Cullen groaned, and put his head between his legs as though nauseous. “Oh, sweet Maker,” he said. She laughed, and rubbed his shoulders, but the motion brought to life the blooming soreness that still resided in her own shoulders, and she winced.

“Cullen?” she said tentatively, a little wary about changing the subject. He looked up at her, and for the first time that night it was _he_ who wore the mask of humiliation. It made her smile in endearment. Then the Inquisitor cleared her throat to snap them both out of their discussion, and gestured to her entire body, screwing up her face apologetically. “ _Ice_.”

He leapt up as though he’d just realized he was sitting on hot coals. “Of course! Oh, Maker, of course! I’m so sorry.” He was frantic. She laughed as she watched the great Commander hop around anxiously, alternating between vulgar swears and pleas to his one god.

Never had she loved him more, as he disappeared up the ladder to where he kept an icebox for this purpose. How he fretted over her, loved her, doted on her – it was more exhilarating than any of their play together. This, she thought, gingerly feeling the welts over her shoulder, was all she really needed in life. Cozy nights and passionate hours with the love of her life.

Yes, she realized. It was the first time she’d thought of him that way, but it was true. The “love of her life.” Huh.

Now if they could just defeat Corypheus, maybe they’d actually have _time_ to work on the Commander’s self esteem. Or, maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe just loving her would be enough to help melt his chronic shame, even in the midst of war.

Whatever the process, it would take time, and she was happy – eager, in fact – to wait it out with him. However long it took, even if it took forever.

Yes. Forever sure sounded nice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Companion art for this fic (done by yours truly): http://jbr-art.tumblr.com/post/113620821531/never-forget-who-is-in-charge-x-in-which


End file.
